We are a species
Eternally plagued
With so many thoughts,
Too many cave in.
All of us think
On what we all could...
What we all should have...
What would have been.
There sits the urn,
On top of my hearth.
She is no longer
A part of this earth.
Where her body was found,
The willow did wither;
The secret she kept
To be buried right with her:
My unborn child.
I love you both.
